


Long Nights and Gilded Cages

by Doodledust (PackGuardian)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bodyguard Romance, Doodledust, F/M, Prompt inspired, Romance will happen eventually I promise, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PackGuardian/pseuds/Doodledust
Summary: Hired as a live-in guard for the sheltered daughter of a rich couple, Springer is dragged to the Crystal City and forced into a heavily scripted life of following the family in their day-to-day engagements and enforcing a round of space around the young femme he is charged to protect. But Arcee is a free spirit, and a few nights of sneaking out into the city changes things between the lady and her guard.





	1. Arrival In Crystal City

It was odd that an ordinary couple would decide spend thousands of credits to hire a full time bodyguard for their daughter.  They were well off of course, but Springer still thought it strange.  They lived in Crystal City, a place the triplechanger had only seen pictures of, but they weren't famous.  They didn't own any company and they didn't have any one thing that would put them that high in the social ladder.  From what he could gather, the wife was old money, but the husband had worked his way up.  An attorney who deliberately, it seemed, took on rich clients and was paid handsomely whether the case was won or lost.  The rich were generous, not to the poor but they would spread their wealth around their rich friends and the people who worked for them.  
Springer played with his fingers, glancing out of the train window, any moment now he would catch his first glimpse of the carved crystal spires and polished metal buildings practically suspended over a chasm.  The morbid thought of what would happen in an earthquake crossed his mind, but he shook his head and forgot it.  Absently, he glanced around the carriage, there were three other people there with him, a businesslike mech deeply engrossed in a news-sheet, a femme with incredibly intricate armouring polished to a shine that he thought may be from the Towers,  and a small bronze armoured femme who didn't seem to fit.  Scanning over her, she seemed to lack vehicle parts, but her armour was fragmented in a way that suggested she could in fact transform.  He was quite fascinated; until she looked up from her pedes and he quickly looked away, face flushing as he did so.

  
He was fairly uncomfortable where he sat.  His new employers had been kind enough to pay for his transport, but they apparently hadn't heard or listened to him when he said that the class of carriage they were thinking of wouldn't quite be big enough.  Third class? Why would he want to ride third class when he could ride first and have a compartment to himself for the entire journey, waited upon hand and foot?  
He had given a vague excuse about 'not travelling well' to get out of a small, cramped compartment.  Second class had been a compromise.  His large frame had gotten him looks from the porters as he hunched himself onto the train, and if his size hadn't been the issue then his lower class Kalis accent surely had.  
Oh, what he would have to go through to regain half the motion in his body in the morning.  The thought of the pain he would experience simply to stand almost brought him to purge, but he hunkered down into his seat and glanced out of the window again, taking deep intakes that had parts of his old respiratory system rattling.

The bronze femme looked at him a moment before going back to staring at her pedes.  She was a Sparklet surely or at least straight out of youth sector.  Springer remembered that.  Of course, he was never sent on a train for fifteen hours alone.  She had boarded at Vos or Simfur, he been jostled to a light recharge somewhere after Iacon and wasn't quite sure about that observation.  He had a feeling the train was slowing, and glanced out the window to be sure.  
And there it was.  The great Crystal City, just as mesmerising as the pictures suggested, the architecture was awe-inspiring.  Crystal glistened, sending tiny flecks of colour against the train, metal gleamed, and on the street below, a hive of activity that would send his sensors into overdrive.  The station was halfway up a high-rise building, but before he could even think of going down to experience anything, he would have to first retrieve his luggage and then meet with the mech sent by his new employers.  As the train ground to a halt, the other passengers, the small bronze femme, the Towers femme and the news-sheet mech all got to their feet, but he stayed seated until a porter came to the carriage.

"Mecha and femma, our final stop, Crystal City. Please collect your luggage and vacate the platform."

The Towers femme left first, then the newssheet mech, and finally the little bronze femme nervously left the carriage.  Springer got to his feet, hitting the back of his head against the curved ceiling. Rubbing the now aching spot, he shuffled out of the carriage and off the train, being careful to duck the whole way.  On the platform, he was assaulted by a rush of new visual and auditory information he hurried to filter out.  He stood where he was for a moment as his numerous sensors settled, and noticed the little bronze femme struggling to retrieve her case.  He held back his sensors as he walked towards the luggage carriage.  His own large black case sat high on a shelf; he would have no problem in getting it down.  However, she was clearly finding difficulty but insisting on getting it herself.  
Quivering he came down to her level, "Would you like my help?" he asked.  
The little bronze femme nodded, "It's the blue one."  
The little blue case was far back on its shelf, but Springer got it out with ease, noting the glyph inscribed on the side.  
"Summergrove, huh?"  
"That's my name." she said proudly, "Thank you for getting my case, mister."  
He gave her a smile, "You're welcome."  
Glancing at the clearly underpaid porter lugging his case out of the compartment with great difficulty, Springer rose to his feet and dragged the case out in an unintentionally stiff motion.  
"You're not the kind we usually get around here," the porter said, eyeing him sideways.  
"I've got work here. I was hired by a family."  
"I see. A working mech."  
Barely thinking, Springer pressed a few credits into the mech's hand.  
"Thank you," he said, taking his case and stiffly shuffling to the platform exit.

 

The rush of new sensory information kept on coming, his night would be restless as he tried to process all of it, that was for sure.  He scanned for the mech sent by his employers, a silver crest they said, but was that a crested helmet or some sort of insignia? Overwhelmed by the crowd he found his way to a wall, set his case down and rested his knee on it.  He reset his optics for silver, but it was everywhere.  The silver exit signs stood out the most, and he considered leaving the station and getting outside for less cramped surroundings.  His intakes were ragged as he stared into the mess of information before him and he barely noticed a slender mech with an embossed silver plate upon his chest approach him.

"Excuse me? Would you be the mech hired by my employer?"

"Huh?"

"I said, would you be the mech hired by my employer?"

"I might be..."

"You were hired as a bodyguard for my employer's daughter."

"I was hired to guard a rich mech's daughter, yes."

"And your name is, sir?"

"Springer. My name is Springer."

"That sounds correct. Follow along then."

   


He set off at quite a pace, Springer grabbed his case from under his knee and ambled after him as fast as he could, weaving through the crowd as he tried to keep up.  Luckily, he was headed to follow the exit signs, and the place was so well signposted, he couldn't get lost for long.  Sooner than he expected, they were outside.  The lessened pressure was a heavenly feeling, sweet Primus it was good to be out of a crowd.  Resetting his optics, he scanned for the mech, who he found by a wall.

   


"Oh there you are. I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm sorry," Springer said, "There were a lot of people in there."

"Your systems were overwhelmed by information, correct?"

"Uh... Yes. My sensors went into overdrive."

"I see. Your original function was as a tracker, yes?"

"A long-range scout specifically."

"Yes. And you are from Kalis."

"I am yes..."

Springer began to feel that he was being interrogated, "So, our employers." he said, "What sort of people are they?"

The mech reeled from having had the tables turned, "They care for their daughter deeply."

"Oh, what's her name?"

"Her name is Miss Arcee. She is soon of age and moving out of the idea there is nothing worth seen outside of their home."

"Arcee, right. So they're rich, and she's sheltered as frag. I get it."

"Yes, and her creators do not want her unsupervised."

"So they want a big mech to look after her. Right. They do realise I won't be cheap, right?"

"You will be paid for your efforts."

"I'm talking fuel. Fifty-four liquid units a day ideally."

The mech did the equation in his head; Springer knelt on his case again.

"We can provide what you need," he finally said.

"Right." Springer said, "We've got it. Where are we going?"

"The outskirts. We might as well see the sights on our way."

 

Springer watched him transform, a motorbike, he should have guessed by his slender frame.  He took his own land mode, the rough terrain vehicle very out of place in the polished and protected city.  With his case locked tightly to his alternate mode, they began to make their way through the city's winding streets.

The complexity of it all disorientated him and by the time they reached the outskirts, the light was beginning to fade.  The residencies had gotten bigger as they approached, and now practically on his employer's doorstep, the three houses stood far apart from each other, all huge and hugely complex in their design.  Transforming to his base form, he looked up at the towering building, admiring its spectacular architecture, it was a legacy home, added to and adapted for millennia by its generations of residents.  His aching frame and grinding tank mechanisms were worth it for this, let alone his well-paid and well-fuelled job.

   


The crested mech transformed beside him, "Shall we?"

Springer snapped out of his admiration of the house, "Huh? Pardon?"

"The service entrance if you would. To the side."

"Huh. Okay."

   


Springer was a little crushed they wouldn't be going through the front door, but there surely couldn't be an ugly part to this spectacular legacy building, could there?

He was quickly proved wrong.  The service entrance was through a damp concrete lean-to and a plain rusted door no thicker than his thumb.  He turned sideways and ducked into a dark and distinctly damp smelling corridor, a manoeuver that amused the slender mech.  Springer refrained from shooting him a dark look, and moved against the wall to let him past.  The mech's pace was not as fast as at the station, a blessing in the smaller surroundings of the corridor.  Glancing upwards, the ceiling was not as low as he had envisioned.  The floor was tiled, as to be expected, and his optics involuntarily reset in the low light. Still, the corridor made him uneasy. His sensors told him there was movement in the darkness at his back. He almost hoped it was glitch mice.

There was soon dim light drifting into the corridor from what Springer assumed to be the main entrance, the one leading in from the front door. As they left the corridor, Springer reset his optics to the new light levels. The ceiling was high; a shimmering chandelier hung from its centre and a large door lead to what he assumed was some sort of formal sitting room on the left side. A large staircase centred the room, and small doors went off into rooms behind the stairs. Looking up, Springer could see that a balcony surrounded the hall. Walking to the centre of the room, he realised that even the ceiling was ornately decorated. He let his sensors take in every detail and in doing so took his full attention off seeing the entrance hall and more into feeling it. So much so, the crested mech clearing his throat for his attention was deafening.

"Huh?"

He rolled his optics behind his thin blue visor, "The master of the house, Dean Strider."

Springer looked around for a klik or two before realising the mech he was looking for was stood in the doorway of the formal sitting room. He was squarely built with a considerably aged face. Taller than the crested mech, but still not tall enough to look him in the optic from less than arm's length away.

   


"I was waiting for you. I didn't hear you come in," the Dean said, voice softer than Springer had anticipated.

"It is my general intent not to be heard until it is required sir," the crested mech said.

"Well Cragmire, it's damn alarming so don't do it."

Springer watched the Dean's optics scan Cragmire, hazy blue optics landing on the dust that now lightly flecked his formerly pristine armour.

"You came in through the service entrance again. Didn't I say not to use it? _Things_ get in."

 

Springer shifted his weight between his pedes awkwardly and exhaled slowly. So far, his new employer at least seemed interesting, but a distinct _fuzziness_ was beginning to creep in to the edge of his vision.


	2. In the Entrance Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springer meeting Arcee's parents goes less than well, and her nurse is terrifying.

It was just as the Dean turned towards him that Springer noticed scraped paint on his shoulder from coming up the corridor.  He almost prayed his new employer wouldn't notice.

"Well then," the Dean said, "you're Springer."

"I am sir." Springer said in a tone stiffer than his joints.

"Was your journey pleasant?"

"It was... all right, really."

"'All right'? Just all right? Why was that then?"

"It was a bit... uh, small sir."

"Small? Well, I do say we underestimated your size... But you weren't uncomfortable were you?"

Springer's face contorted in uncertainty, "Well, um..."

The Dean looked down and off to the side, "Well, Springer, we will do the best we can to accommodate you, and any needs you may have."

Springer gave a small nod, "Yes sir. Thank you sir."  
That damn fuzziness, he couldn't work out what it was or what was causing it but it concerned him. Was that the right word? Concerned?

Down the stairs with clicking heeled steps came a tall femme about the same height as the Dean with lavender armouring and an inherently pretentious air about her.  The Dean turned to her with a gently adoring smile, but Springer noted no area of her face even moved to hint at her sharing his sentiment.  With a sweeping stride she carried herself to her bondmate.  
"Good evening dear." he said.  
"Yes, it is good evening." she replied curtly with a glance to Springer.  
"Maisa, this young mech is Springer, Arcee's hired guard." the Dean said, "Springer; this is Maisa, my wife."  
"Hello ma'am, if I may compliment your beautiful house." he said, tucking his hands behind his back.  
"Please, you've barely seen it. We expected you four hours earlier."  
"Ah, Maisa, Cragmire took the… _scenic_ route I should think." the Dean interjected.

The lady of the house walked around Springer to inspect him. As she came closer, he quickly observed that she was older than she appeared, close to the Dean in age despite her younger face. Her optics were what caught his eye, a piercing blue backed by grey, their rims heavily lined and their shutters so heavily painted they seemed to catch a little as they moved.

"Hm. His paintwork is scratched, his armour improperly fractured, joints seized, rust on his left foot," she said, punctuating each criticism with a click of her glossia.

Springer glanced down at his foot, she hadn't even seen him walk, barely even move.  How could she even tell his joints were seizing up?

"With all due respect ma'am, I haven't ever had the money to spend any real time on my armour," he said.  
"Well here you will." she said, "I want you at least relatively presentable by the end of the week."  
"Maisa, that's a lot to ask." the Dean said.  
"Cragmire can organise it, can't you?"

Springer swore he saw the mech's visor darken for a moment.

"Yes ma'am." Cragmire said.  
"Good." She turned her gaze back to Springer, "Now, I accept that you have spent the day travelling, and that you are weary,”  
Springer was beginning to hate her.  
"And that you likely want nothing more than to bathe and fuel and rest, but there is one thing more important than that now,”  
Hazarding a glance over her shoulder, Springer caught the Dean rolling his optics.  
"And that is my daughter. She will certainly be the most important element of your existence from now on, and I will expect you to accompany her at all times."  
"Maisa, surely this can wait." the Dean said.  
"No, it cannot. The safety of my daughter -" she shuttered her optics against her bonded’s interruption.  
"Our daughter, dear."  
She continued with gritted denta, "- must be paramount. We can take no chances with it."  
"I know that dear, but it can surely wait until morning."  
She turned around, "Why? Why is that?"  
"Arcee 'gave up waiting' two and a half hours ago and drifted off an hour ago."  
"Her room is empty."  
The Dean gestured into the formal sitting room, "That, my dear, is because we were waiting in the drawing room. As you asked us to."  
"You let her fall into recharge in the drawing room?"  
The Dean suppressed a sigh, "Maisa, the girl was exhausted. You had her up at four this morning."  
"Still, you know."  
The Dean held his thumb to his palm and glanced at Cragmire, "Maisa, please dear."  
"No, Strider."

Yes, yes, Springer definitely despised her. If she was willing to wake her supposedly beloved daughter for an introduction that - as the Dean said - could wait until morning, she was almost not worth being given any sort of benefit of the doubt.  Cragmire suppressed a wince as Springer gently lowered his case onto the tiles.  It was a beautiful house, but it hardly looked lived in.  The same could be said about the Lady's armour.  It looked brand new at first glance, but closer inspection, or rather enhanced optic sensors, revealed it to have been buffed and polished to within an inch of its life with so much wax used that Springer swore that she would stain the furnishings if she sat down.  In contrast, the Dean's armour had been buffed and polished, but only roughly, as if the mech had resisted during the act, refusing all but the most rudimentary treatment.  The two glared at each other and he sensed an impending blazing row...  A haze suddenly swept over him, knocking out his primary sensors and Springer staggered.

"Springer?"  
For a moment, he struggled to place the voice or name its owner, but as he onlined his optics, he saw the Dean crouched before him, still slightly unfocused. Springer found himself knelt on the tiled floor, supported by an arm over his case. Had he fallen into that position, or had he been moved into it? It felt vaguely forced. Springer watched as the Dean, with almost parental concern, risked unbalancing himself to slowly sway a few (Springer couldn't be bothered to count them) digits in front of his optics, an old trick for testing reflex functions.

"I dare say that is the first time a _mech_ has fainted in this hall," Cragmire said in a tone that probably wasn't intended to sound patronising.  
"Fuel, son?" the Dean asked.  
"I..." Primus, his head hurt, "I think so, sir."  
The Dean gave a nod, "Then we'll see to it. I hope this isn't a common thing for you Springer."  
"N-no sir. I don't make habit of it."

It was less than five minutes later that Springer was sitting at a counter in what was to him a slightly blurry kitchen. He had Cragmire flitting back and forth, and his fingers were wrapped around a fuel canister. He was silently embarrassed by fragging _fainting_  in front of the Dean and the Lady, even though she seemed to have wandered off by the time he came to. How long had he been unconscious? It couldn't have been more than a cycle or two, but so far it looked like he had missed at least a breem. He prised the lid off the canister and sipped at the fuel within. Springer winced; it was far sweeter than he was used to. But it was blue Energon. It looked right, it smelt right. But it tasted wrong.  
With a vent,  Springer concluded that he’d just have to get used to adding a sour additive from now on, and raised the canister to drink again.

 

Morning in Crystal City was bright to say the least.  Springer had awoken from recharge and onlined his optics to searing sunlight.  He was in a small guest room, lying flat on his back and dreading his first movement of the day.  His frame ached just lying still, he could only imagine how awful the pain would be to sit up, let alone stand.  He took the risk of moving his fingers, and pain shot up to his shoulder and spread across his chest.

Frag, could he get away with staying here all day?

He moaned, probably not.  His audios picked up the sound of someone on the landing.  It was probably Cragmire.  He hoped it was Cragmire.  If it wasn't, then he was slightly screwed.  From what he had gathered from the mech's wittering as he flitted back and forth last night, Cragmire was the household's butler, and was deliberately the only member of staff even remotely visible to visitors.  He had said the Dean tended to wake first,  lock himself in his study for a few hours, come down to share morning fuel with his wife and daughter and then disappear again, either out of the house or back into the study - though he wouldn't lock the door.  
Lady Maisa would appear sometime after dawn, socialise for an hour or so, order staff around and then disappear again until the evening.  That had instantly drawn comparisons in Springer's mind to vampires, and it honestly wouldn't have surprised him.  
Finally Arcee would usually spend the morning quietly, as her mother wanted, doing her lessons and acting like a 'proper lady'.  She didn't have any friends, rarely saw her parents and had been raised mostly by the household staff.  Cragmire had mentioned a common rumour among the staff, that being that Arcee, far from having any sort of bond with her parents - or at least her mother - was actually imprinted upon her nurse, a femme named Virtue.  Which Springer thought was a silly name.  Other members of the household staff were named Grease, Cloudkick and Scraphammer.  Scraphammer was an unfortunate name.

It was about then that he had begun to nod off and spilt half a canister of fuel over the counter.  
He had honestly no idea what he'd be doing if life in the Dean's household was as 'exciting' as it sounded.  There had been mention of engagements and itineraries, but he had been watching too-sweet Energon dripping off the counter top.

The pain in his arm slowly dissipated, and he brought his hand up to his face.  He onlined his optics, resetting for the light.  A numbness had settled in his right foot and he fought the urge to cry out as pain travelled from his ankle to his belly as he was forced to shift his weight to relieve it.  Primus, it would kill him to get up, and he reckoned that it was only partially exaggeration to think that.  There was a knock at the door and he turned his head towards it.

"Who's that?" He called hoarsely.

Pain hurt his voice, who knew?  
Springer wasn't big on dignity, but he realised the position he was in wasn't very flattering. Hopefully it was only Cragmire. _Only Cragmire._ Who was he kidding, Cragmire, while friendly, wasn't all that approachable. He had a tendency to interrogate people.  
No one had answered his call, so he tried it again, "If you want come in, just come in."

The door swung open, and a tall femme with ivory and silver armour stood in the doorway.  
And she was _tall_. Springer lifted his head; she had to be taller than him, at least by a head. Her helm boasted a golden disk and horn structure, and small lines of gold infiltrated - Springer liked that word recently, _infiltrated_ her otherwise two-toned armouring periodically.

"Are you not already up? No matter."  
Springer rolled his stiff neck, "I don't think I can."  
"What are you, paralysed?"  
He tried not to snort, "No, just I'm just stiff as frag."  
The ridiculously tall femme leaned onto the windowsill, "And what do you mean by that?"  
Iacon. She was from Iacon, he knew he recognised her accent.  
"I mean," Springer said, "that my joints are seized."  
"And why is that?" She asked.  
Springer sighed, "Who are you?"

She turned around, "My name is Virtue."  
"Oh... So you're Arcee's nurse..."  
"Indeed. And you are?"  
"Springer."  
Virtue nodded, "The guard. I see."  
"Yes..."  
"You haven't met her yet I take it."  
"No, I haven't even seen her yet."

Springer struggled to sit up, falling back onto his elbows with a groan.  
Virtue tilted her head, "You're bigger than we thought you'd be."  
"You're taller than _I_ thought _you'd_ be." Springer said with pain flooding back into his voice.

Virtue pulled the sheet off his legs, "Get up before I make you."  
"How?" He moaned, covering his face with his hands.  
"I will physically drag you off that berth and on to your feet, I will ignore any protest you may make and I will force you into washing and fuelling before I control you into the business of meeting your charge."

That was terrifying. Virtue spoke in a completely neutral tone, and with a hand on his ankle, her jade optics viewed through his fingers resembled the terrifying phantom eyes in the dark an insomniac's mind would form under a desk or in a corner, and Springer could completely believe she was capable of doing as she threatened. The only problem he would later come to see with it was that he weighed about half a ton more than her, which would have made dragging him onto his feet difficult. But frag, she was a force to be reckoned with, she acted like a military commander, she didn't tell you what to do, she gave orders of what to do. Springer was tempted to call her ma'am even. He could envision her barking orders at a squadron of unruly cadets, and forming them quickly into punctual and perfect soldiers - but that was going too far. She was a young femme's nurse, and tutor, and _de facto_ guardian. An apparently very spirited young femme. That _had_ been the word Cragmire had used, hadn't it? Spirited? Anyway... He thought it would only be natural for her to be this formidable, this steadfast, this... scary... Virtue was almost icy, but something about her seemed very gentle. Judgemental, maybe. Prejudiced, probably. But she seemed to have a gentle hidden warmth that she couldn't quite banish from herself. She stood gently, stepped gently, _blinked gently_.

And that was strangely comforting. Even so, ice was spreading across her features in thick sheets.  
"Up. _Now_."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I question why it took me so long to introduce Arcee to this, and for that I apologise. She's in the next chapter I swear. Also I tried multiple pronunciations of 'Maisa', but none seem to have stuck.


	3. Sir, Your Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being taken to his assigned quarters by Virtue, Springer finally meets Arcee.

Oddly enough, Springer didn't die the second he forced his legs to hold his weight. He did almost fall over when he attempted to walk and the pain was nearly enough for him to black out, but that wasn't quite the same thing.

"Well, now that you're up, you may as well tidy yourself up before you meet 'Cee." Virtue said, suddenly a lot more approachable as they walked out of the tiny guest room and moved down the hall.

He nodded, "Uh... yeah... And 'Cee'?"  
Virtue flared a hand, "It's what I call her, what I've always called her."  
"Yeah, you... you raised her didn't you?"  
"That's right. I see Cragmire got you up to speed last night."  
Springer cringed, "Yeah, after I fainted."  
Virtue turned and tilted her head, "You fainted? Were you all right? Did you hurt yourself at all?"

Springer pulled back from her, she was definitely gentle, but she was still fiercely formidable, and he swore she had hands as big as his face.  
"Whoa! Whoa, whoa! I'm fine! There's nothing wrong with me! I'm just- I'm fine!"  
Virtue winced a little, yet was more amused than fearful, "Quiet, please, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend or alarm you."

A faint noise caught Springer's audios, and he turned with far more agility and speed than his wailing joints and aching frame should have allowed.

Down a shallow side corridor, there were three doors. Two at the sides, relatively plain and unassuming, just as all the other doors were, and the last sat at the end of the short corridor. It was beautiful. Ornately decorated, carved by expert hands, the handle gleamed with a platinum sheen and what looked like a rare pink diamond was set deep within it. And the door was open just a crack. It occurred to Springer that the room within must open out behind the two other rooms, and would be much larger than the tiny corridor would suggest.

A soft blue light peered through the crack into the dim corridor. Virtue muttered something indistinctly, cursing herself probably Springer thought. The light fell just above waist height on him, he'd met femma that height. He'd felt awkward for being around twice their height, but a girl just of age? It seemed about right.

Virtue sighed and wiped the rim of her optic with the flat of her second finger, "Stop trying to be subtle 'Cee, we can see you."

Springer found himself playing the homophone in his head, 'Cee and 'see', was he immature for being amused by that? Yes. He decided he was. He straightened his back, painfully, from his 'hunter's crouch' and cocked his head a little as the door opened.

And there she was, stood in the same crouch.

Arcee was dainty with a gently hourglass figure. She straightened up to her full height, which was just a little taller than he had expected, and walked with trained gait, her shoulders back and her heels barely hitting the floor, to stand before him and Virtue.  
"Good morning." she said, glancing up to their faces.

She wasn't entirely armoured, almost but not quite, her legs were bare from ped to knee, her arms were bare from hand to shoulder. Her belly was fully exposed, and her light armouring was mostly white with segments of dark pink. Her underlying mesh was very pale and almost translucent, and a sleepy crust had formed on the rims of her optics. She had what appeared to be door-wings on her upper back, and they seemed to have a mind of their own. _That's adorable_ , he thought as they flicked in time with her intakes.  
It was a second before Springer realised his first interaction with her had been a particularly goofy smile and a half absent scanning look.

Thankfully, she didn't seem to have noticed.  
"Arcee," Virtue said, "this is Springer."  
"Um... Hi." she said, turning her head to look up at him with her mouth half open.  
"Ahem." Virtue's optic ridge disappeared under the overhang of her helm, "Arcee, Springer is the mech hired by your parents to guard you."

Arcee's winglets stopped flicking. Her whole body froze, and Springer imagined her thoughts racing, had she _really_ just half-fragged an introduction to someone she was going to have to be with for the rest of slagging who-knows-how-long?  
She seemed to be the kind of young femme to form her thoughts that way. Minus the cursing. She was far too refined for that, surely.

One winglet twitched, and she stepped back a little, "My name is Arcee. I'm pleased to meet you."  
Her tone was carefully measured and practised. Springer was almost shocked that her words hadn't been joined by a curtsy or a formal dip.  
"I'm... pleased to meet you too Arcee." he said, leaning his head forward in an approximation of the formal movement he had expected from her.   
He was embarrassed he couldn't perform the movement to its entirety, but his back hurt enough as it was...  
She seemed to remember that she had forgotten it, and dipped her upper body at him, much to Virtue's approval, "When did you... arrive?"  
_Get here. She was going to say 'get here'.  
_  "Uh, last night. Very late last night."

Arcee nodded. Her optics looked over him, from his pedes to his fingers, from his fingers to his chest, and then to his face. She half stared into his face. Springer tried desperately not to be freaked out by her wide-eyed expression and fought with the urge to tense himself. That would be painful as frag and he had already had enough of that.  The shops hadn't even opened yet. That was a startling realisation. He had all of the rest of the day, and he had already experienced all the pain he could bear.

He half stared back. Her optics were beautiful and a stunning shade of blue, even with the early morning fuel levels and a forced preservation of integrity. There was no colour bleed into the outer lens, and the edge of her inner colour boundary was crisp. She had never gotten caught in the rain without a visor, that was for sure.

_Ahem._ They both jumped a little. Virtue tilted her head with distinctly irate and darkened optics. "Arcee, full armour on. Springer, shower."  
"Okay Virtue." Arcee said and walked back into her room.  
"As soon as I know where it is, I will." Springer replied, glancing at her.

“Right.” Virtue said curtly.

Virtue walked down the shallow corridor with wide swinging hips. She turned to the plain door on the right and turned the door handle, letting the door swing open.  
"This," she said with a glance to Springer, "will be your room."  
He came into the corridor, though dim it was much wider than he had thought, and looked into the room. It was bare, but a good size, there was no window, and he suddenly understood why Virtue had come into the guest room to look out the window. The lack of natural light wasn't too much of a problem, but it would be a slight draw back. Virtue stepped in and looked around, and he followed.  
"Naturally, you'll make it your own. Didn't you bring anything with you?"  
"Of course I did. It's just downstairs," he said, indicating knee height, "It's a big black cube thing."  
Virtue glanced upwards for a second, mouth hanging slightly open, and Springer realised where Arcee had gotten that odd habit from.   
"Of course... You couldn't bring it up with you last night." she said finally, "Anyway, the washroom's through there."

She gestured to a side door across the room. The door's seal was watertight, which both relieved and worried Springer. On one hand, if he left a tap on, it wouldn't flood the entire room, on the other hand, he probably wouldn't realise he'd left a tap on until he went into the washroom, which would result in an inch or more of water flooding out into the rest of the room.  
"The showers are all the old pressure activated type. You won't be able to turn it on without getting in." Virtue said, "There's a bit of a step up, so mind your head."  
Springer nodded, "Okay, thanks."   
She probably spoke from experience, being so tall he did end up underestimating ceiling height, just ask yesterday's train carriage, so naturally Virtue most likely did too. She was after all, quite a bit taller than him. She was Iaconian, he thought about it again, had she been through this sort of thing arriving too?

"Well, I'll be taking my leave now." She said, jerking him out of contemplation.   
Virtue nodded at him, turned on her heel and walked out of the door, almost colliding the highest point of her helm with the doorframe.   
Springer was under the distinct impression that he would be working very closely with Virtue, and it would do him well to get to know her.  
He looked around the bare room for a moment. This room was his, his private space. There would be no locking the door or keeping people out entirely, but it was his own space, it had his own washroom. The washroom.  
Virtue had told him to shower. Showering would probably do something about the pain in his joints. Showering would be a good idea.

He walked stiffly to the washroom, the door slipped open as he came within five metres. The room was more or less empty, but not ignored clearly. The sensor was very well calibrated. He stopped for a moment and stepped away from the door. It instantly slid closed. _Incredibly well calibrated_ , he thought with a small smile as he went into the sensor's range again. The washroom was cleanly laid out, with matte black tiles on the walls and burnished steel panelling on the floor.  
He took himself to the closed off area of the shower, and as Virtue had said, there was a step up. Quite a large step up. It honestly came up to his ankle.   
Frag. Springer pulled himself up into the platform and took a few dark steps into the shower, he felt the pressure pad drop below his feet.

Springer reset his optics for the low light and found the shower unit. Fraggit, it really was old. The way a lever had to be pushed down simultaneously to turning the temperature dial had to date the hardware to about Arcee's age.   
Springer pushed on the lever slowly until it clicked and began turning the dial, recalling the method from his time in youth. Water slowly began to stream from the showerhead over him. Once it got up to temperature, he forced the lever down sharply, and basked under the pouring, pattering water hitting his face and body. The warmth seeping into his joints and easing the stiffness within them. Springer made an undignified sound as the uncomfortable sensation faded away.  
All right, enough basking. The water would peel his paint if it kept on, and he wasn't really getting any cleaner showering in full armour. Springer reluctantly pulled up the lever to lessen the flow of water and loosened off all the armouring he could. Anything could come off, would come off. Anything that did come off would be washed and polished ridiculously - just not right now.  
He took off his helmet last and, as he might have expected, there was a fresh dent in it. Obviously, that had come from colliding with the carriage roof yesterday. Running his fingers over the dent, it was nothing he couldn't press out, but the Lady expected him to completely revamp his appearance by the end of the week. It was highly unlikely she would appreciate him repairing his own armouring.

He set his helmet down with the rest of his armour, and kept his head out of humidity central, that is, the shower, for a few kliks. His fans kicked into overdrive to push out the moisture and he heard rattling again. He hoped there would be time to replace his filters and fans at some point, Primus knew it was irritating to have them sputtering with every deep intake or vent.  
There had to be, Springer decided, some way to turn on an extractor fan or even just a light in the shower. Nobody could be expected to wash in the dark like this, or suffer this level of humidity. But then again, he couldn't be bothered to find it right now.

He found a washcloth and pushed the lever back down. Springer wet the cloth and began to wash himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Arcee has finally entered the picture. Also Springer in the shower. Yep.


	4. Discussions with the Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springer finds out that life as he has so far experienced it couldn't be further from the norm. And he hates Arcee's mother.

Springer was sat at the end of his bare berth, armour off, having dripped shower water all the way from the washroom to the centre of the room. Virtue had come knocking, asked him if he wanted to dry himself, and had been met with a 'No thanks. I'll drip.'

She had warned him of developing rust in sensitive areas, and he had replied with a resounding 'meh'. That had also been his response to her expressing slight concern that he would chill himself sitting around armourless. It got _cold_ in Kalis, but late night humidity had brought Springer to the conclusion that the Crystal City would not get as cold as his home region.  
In other words, he couldn't give four frags about getting cold. He would put his armour on when he was dry, and he wasn't quite dry yet.

The floor was wet though, and he found himself frowning at that. There were a few towels on a rack in the washroom; he might as well dry the floor. Springer got up from the berth and wandered into the washroom. As he grabbed a towel he caught sight of himself in the largest mirror he had ever had the luxury of being trusted near. He noticed how small his head looked with his helm off and furrowed his brow. And were his shoulders really that narrow? Was he standing funny, or were they uneven too?

"Hmm..." he turned to the side, looking himself up and down and pulling himself up so straight his knees locked far out of default.  
"Hmm..."  
Nope, he didn't like looking at himself unarmoured.  
"Frag."

He shook his head and threw the towel back onto the rack. The floor could wait. Springer had to get his armour back on, the humidity was dissipating and some chill was creeping in to replace it. He wasn't cold per se, but condensation prickled against his bare back and shoulders and stripped him of his personal surround of ambient warmth as it evaporated away. He shuddered and retrieved his chestplate from the shower. He shook the water out of it sharply, forget polishing any of his armour, it wasn't as if he would be sacked for not cleaning himself up immediately. Hoisting it up to his shoulders, he noted the scraping where his shoulder pieces fitted over it dryly. _The consequences of not giving a frag_ , he thought, amusing himself darkly.

  
Backplate, shoulder pieces. Upper arm, lower arm, elbows. Hip guards, upper leg, knees, lower legs, ankles.  He wasn't sure about his wrist guards, pedal armour. Neither fit properly, his wrist guards were too loose and his pedal armour was murder to walk in. Eh, no one was going to kill him for not wearing them, particularly since he _had_ been a bit ridiculous with his hard-earned credits and the results of that were sitting underneath all his other belongings in his case, still boxed, still unworn. And downstairs. His wrist guards merely being extensions of the armour of his forearms, they didn't matter and there wouldn't be any harm in going downstairs barefoot to get his case...

Coming out of the washroom, Springer threw a towel over the water on the floor and left his room. Virtue's door was closed, and he could hear Arcee still in her room. She seemed to be talking to someone, but he figured it was Virtue and carried on out of the side corridor. Springer glanced upwards as he walked towards the stairs, the floor was slightly spongey under foot, clearly no expense had been spared to ensure the luxury of the place, and was surprised to see the chandelier still above his head. It seemed brighter than last night, and he wasn't sure whether it actually was or whether he was just more aware of it than before.  
He shook his head a little, dazzled by the reflections from the hanging crystals, and continued towards the stairs.

  
Something black caught his optic, and he reset for the colour to focus on it. A black armoured mech was coming up the stairs. A black mech with it seemed... rich purple optics. Springer reset his optics to standard, and yes, that was a very rich purple and it stood out strikingly from his almost monochromatic colouration. Springer ran through the list of staff in his head, and if he had to guess, he would have put the name Grease to him.

"Hi there," the mech said, taking him by surprise. He spoke with the same clipped tones as all of the natives of Crystal City he'd met so far, but something in his voice was distinctly lower class. "I'm guessing you're Springer."  
Springer nodded curtly, _here goes nothing_ , "I am, and I'm guessing you're Grease."  
He smiled, just enough to expose his upper denta, "Got it, got it in one. You came last night?"  
"Uh, yes, pretty late actually," Springer wasn't sure why he hesitated; maybe it was because Grease only seemed to have one hand.  
"Ah, I wasn't here at the time, otherwise I'd have been here to greet you."  
"You weren't here?"  
"That's right. I was out on errand. 'Go next door, ask them to turn their back light off. It's been on for two days'. So I did," as he spoke, Grease shifted his arm and he suddenly had two hands, "I guess I missed a lot."  
"You could say that..." Springer replied, not glancing at Grease's suddenly appearing hand, "... If you count embarrassing myself in front of the lady and the dean as 'a lot'."  
Something flickered in Grease's optics, "Springer, trust me I'm not asking and I don't care to know. Just go about pretending it didn't happen, because trust me, I'll be."

It might have been the way he spoke, softly but confidently, or the genuine empathy he displayed, but Springer _could_ trust Grease. _I like him_. He couldn't work out why, but he wasn't as freaked out by Grease as by both Cragmire and Virtue. But he put his hands in subspace (Springer had only just realised that) and that was strange.

"So," Grease said, "I'll do what I was doing, you do what you were doing, and I'll see you later Springer."  
With a gentle smile, Grease walked up towards a set of stairs further back. Springer watched after him for a second, almost wondering where it was he was going, and started down the stairs. As he went down, he looked around the entrance hall and tried to look into the drawing room. The doors were open, but the only things in the room he could see from the stairs were a few shelving units and cabinets and a large feature window. He considered actually going into the room for more of a look, but chased the thought from his mind.

At the bottom of the stairs, it only took him a few kliks to find his case by a table next to a tall branching crystal in a pot. He took a moment of staring at the yellow crystal, completely clueless as to what it was, before gathering his case and starting his way back up the stairs. Which was where he hit his first problem.

The case was big, black and bulky and probably weighed something ridiculous. He could carry it just fine, but actually picking it up... That was near impossible.  
_It didn't seem much when I was packing, how is it so much now? I swear, luggage breeds._  
And the stairs looked steeper up than down. He knew it was impossible, and he seemed to like that word this morning, but the stairs were particularly daunting right now. There was still something of a dull ache in the backs of his legs that would take a hot bath to fix, but he didn't have that luxury. Also, and it was entirely his own fault, but Springer's knees now felt strange, and it was just on the verge of being pain, but was more just uncomfortable, that was understandable an explanation enough, right?

Anyway, Springer resolved to drag his case up, even if it meant taking things that would survive being thrown up the stairs out and doing just that. There were at least a hundred small objects that wouldn't die completely from being launched up two flights of stairs.  
At least eight of his datapads were reinforced enough to be thrown without damage surely...

 

Two days later, Springer had settled into some sort of normality. Virtue seemed as intent on mothering him as she did Arcee; Grease was determined to appear on the edge of his vision every few hours to scare the frag out of him, unintentionally of course. Apparently, Springer just startled easily.  
He had also met another of the household staff. Her name was Cloudkick, she was an aerial and according to Grease, she had propellers. Sat in the kitchen with the two of them, he had more than a few questions for both.

  
"So... What is it exactly you do?"  
Cloudkick grinned behind her thick yellow visor, "It's best described as admin, but then I'm also apparently in charge of any moment anyone spends outside the house."  
Grease smiled and rested his hand on his chin, "Nobody ever asks what I do, and it isn't really that important-"  
"Liar. He holds the keys. Essentially, if anyone who isn't supposed to access the house or its grounds accesses it, he's the one to blame, he's the one losing his job, he's the one suspected of assisting unauthorised access to privately owned property."  
"It's in no way as exciting as it might seem."  
Springer vented slowly, "It sounds... Kind of dull to be honest..."  
Cloudkick started off laughing, "Yeah, and dear old keeper of keys isn't really a modern job, and the only way he'd be able to do it modernly would be to memorise keycodes and passwords and access keys and encryption codes and-"  
"Is that a word?" Grease interrupted her.  
"What's a word?"  
"'Modernly'."  
"Yes. It's the adjective form of 'modern'."  
"Huh. See, I just thought you were making up words again."

Springer slipped off his stool and fetched himself a canister of fuel from his allowance, mixing in three units of a sour additive. It wasn't quite as he was used to, but it wasn't disgustingly sweet either. Which was, he thought, close enough that to fuss over it was a waste of time. He smiled at Grease and Cloudkick bickering, and turned around just as Virtue came in with a distinct spring in her step.  
"Good morning!" She said cheerily as she perched on a stool. With her knees pulled up high, Springer thought she would have been more comfortable just putting her pedes on the floor.  
Grease tried not to yawn, "Yeah, sure. If you say so."  
"Don't be melodramatic," Cloudkick chided, "How are you this morning Virtue?"  
"If I wanted to sound pretentious, I'd say marvelous. If I however wanted to be humble, I'd say fine. But, I'll just stick to truth and say on top form," Virtue replied, clapping her hands together.  
Grease grumbled and rolled his optics. Clearly she was far too happy for this early in the morning.  
"Can I just ask,"  Springer said, "what's got you like this?"

Virtue smiled broadly, "Every year there's a huge ball as part of the Festival of Lights celebrations, and every year we tag along but we're not actually supposed to be there."  
Cloudkick gasped, "You mean we're actually invited this time?"  
"Yes! All of us! Well... Not Scraphammer, but he _will_ be coming."  
"But if he's not invited..." Springer trailed off.  
"They let you bring a few people, and Scraphammer will come because it's funny when the pretentious lot try to look down on him, but he's far too tall!"  
Cloudkick brushed the crest of her helm with her fingertips, "Hammer doesn't especially enjoy it, but he'd be on his own if he didn't come."  
She was practically bouncing, Virtue was practically squealing, and Grease looked like he had had his fragged lot with them.

Grease ran his hand from his forehead to his chin, "And how did you hear about this?"  
Virtue put one ped on the floor and leaned forward on the counter.  
"The Dean caught me out of his study; he was almost excited as we are!"  
Springer frowned lightly, the Dean was a relatively simple mech, and whatever glitz and glamour came with a formal dance - 'ball' - didn't seem to suit him.  
"I wouldn't have thought it was his kind of thing," He said.  
"Oh no, he loves it!" Cloudkick said, "Less the actual party side of it, more seeing us all out together. And when Grease is forced to clean up."  
Grease groaned, "Worst fragging day of the year. Seriously."  
Cloudkick laughed like a wind chime, a high, jangly sound.  
"Oh, I just remembered," Virtue said, looking at Springer pointedly, "The Dean wants to see you in his study."  
"Right," He said, "Thanks."

A few cycles later, Springer had located the Dean's study. He was just about to knock on the door; there was no chime, when he heard someone behind him.  
"No need to knock, I'm behind you."  
Springer half turned, the Dean was smiling at him.  
"Now, come in then."  
The Dean lead Springer into his study, there was a slight step up into the room, the walls were panelled in a rich red, and the centre point of the room was a beautifully simple desk. It was the same rich red as the wall panelling, and its legs were minimally and delicately carved, and the drawer handles were made of slightly cloudy crystal. As they approached it, Springer realised it was quite high and its highest point reached to the Dean's waist. Three padded chairs were arranged around the desk, one, the Dean's chair, was square at the top,  considerably worn and repaired, and did not match the other two. The other two chairs were a pair, round to the top and almost new, but there was clear signs the chair closest to the desk was the one most used.  
With a gentle vent the Dean took his chair.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the two before him.  
Springer sat slowly into the closer chair, turning it slightly to better face the Dean.  
"So, how are you today?" the Dean asked.  
Springer considered for a moment, "I'm fine."  
"Are you settling, do you feel comfortable here?"  
Springer nodded slowly, "I've found some kind of normal, I think."  
"Normal, I see. But this has been quite a quiet week for us. You've been here two full days, and, collectively, we haven't left the house," the Dean said, glancing down at the desk and lightly flicking a hand across its surface.  
It took Springer a klik to realise he was using an embedded screen. It took him a few more to realise the Dean was typing something. Springer couldn't read upside down.  
The Dean finished typing and dismissed the page, turning off the screen with a wave of his hand. The screen seemed to be partially hard light. Huh.

"Now," the Dean said, "I, unfortunately, did not just want to 'check up on' you. This is a little more personal than that. You're currently on a daily allowance of fuel to the tune of sixty liquid units."  
"Yes sir," Springer replied, a slight nervous tic had begun in his ankle, causing his foot to tap on the floor.  
The Dean ignored it, "You said you would require... fifty-eight a day?"  
"Fifty-four, actually," Springer said, crossing his pedes in an attempt to stop the tic.  
"Right, and what is your transformation scheme?"  
Springer had no idea what he meant, "I'm sorry, sir?"  
"When classifying yourself, are you a... Grounder, an aerial..."  
"Oh, uh, I'm a triplechanger sir, I have a ground and an air mode."  
"I see, yes, which mode do you use most often?"  
"Ground, sir."  
The Dean nodded and flicked his screen back on, "Yet there would still be an expenditure of energy from your aerial mode."  
Springer played with his hands and nodded, "There is sir. It's constant."  
"Are either of your modes particularly fuel efficient?"  
"Uh... I don't know... I don't think so. Triplechangers don't tend to be."  
"I see.  And is the fifty-four the absolute minimum you need, or the maximum or is it a middle ground?"  
Springer adjusted his helm a little, "Honestly sir, I'm not sure. I haven't been assessed for anything in... it must be vorns sir."  
The Dean nodded, "But it feels right to you. The only reason I'm asking is that we have been trying to cut back on our expenses, and one of the ways we have been attempting to do this is by cutting our fuel costs. It isn't only you I have or will be talking to about this. Also... Maisa thinks you may have exaggerated your requirements, and wanted to cut your allowance immediately to forty. But I thought you should be consulted first."

Springer reeled, "Why would I do that?"  
"I have no idea, I don't know why she decided you were... But it concerned me."  
"I can't go to forty, maybe fifty at the extreme least."  
"We'll have you assessed to be sure, but for now I do think the decrease will be necessary. In fact, I think we'll be able to start the assessment at the baths."  
"What?"  
"Oh yes, I haven't been able to talk Maisa out of that... It'll be the day after tomorrow... Conveniently, just in time for the Festival. I assume you've heard about that?"  
"Oh yes." Springer smiled awkwardly, "Virtue and Cloudkick couldn't be any more excited."  
"Well, I dare say it'll be a good time."

Without knocking a young pastel green femme with swept back wings came flitting into the room, carrying a shallow round container, her jet intakes sat near her feet on the backs of her legs, Springer had a funny thought of her hovering off the ground with them when excited.

"Here are the data discs you asked for sir!" She exclaimed enthusiastically, barely noticing him.  
"Aeroline," the Dean said, glancing from her to Springer as she came half-way to his desk.

She stopped midstep and found him in her line of sight. Her face flushed pale blue and she backed away a few steps.  
"I'm sorry sir," she spoke with a lilting northern accent, "I didn't mean to interrupt anything, it's just that usually-"  
"Aeroline. Please, it's of no matter. Springer and I were merely discussing again the terms of his employment."

Well. That was certainly one way of putting it. This conversation that had amounted to 'My wife thinks you're exaggerating your fuel requirements for some nefarious purpose, she wanted Cragmire to cut your allowance by a third immediately, but I thought it better to consult you first'.  
This was just another reason for him to despise Lady Maisa, why would he exaggerate his fuel requirements? He could be considered at least half aerial, and therefore naturally needed a lot of fuel. He surveyed Aeroline, she was what? A glider? A microjet? Some other sort of light aircraft? Anyway, the point was she could fly.  
They employed her, so naturally she received a fuel allowance from them as part of her terms. Presumably her allowance was in the thirties or forties daily, so they had no trouble with her assumed high fuel consumption, or Cloudkick's come to think of it... Was it that Lady Maisa hadn't seen him take aerial form that she was being tricky about this or was it that she just disliked him about as much as he hated her?

The Dean pointedly made visual contact with him and glanced to Aeroline. Clearly he was expecting one of them to introduce themselves, and he would prefer it to be Springer as matter of courtesy.

"Oh, yes... I'm Springer," he said, offering her a small smile.  
She extended her free hand tentatively, "I'm Aeroline."  
Springer glanced at her hand and shook it, a tad surprised at her force. Her hands were tiny, as was the rest of her, but she had a firm handshake. She was quite close to Arcee in age, and she was... Only just of age. Huh.  
He wouldn't have expected such a young femme to be working like this, sure, this was the first time he'd actually seen her at all, Cragmire hadn't even mentioned her, and this just seemed to be errand work, but it was still strange.  
"Um..."  
Springer snapped back to reality and let go of the young femme's hand, he had to stop doing that! Um, zoning out that is.

"Right," he said, "sorry."  
"It's okay," she said, "I'll see you later."  
Aeroline put the container of data discs on the desk and flitted out of the room.  
The Dean smiled after her, "Aeroline's a wonderful girl, a bit odd but she does no harm."  
Springer nodded vaguely.  
"Well," the Dean said, "I've said all I had to say, I won't keep you any longer. I'll formalise that reduction today, in an ideal world, it would be gradual, but to satisfy Maisa I'm afraid it'll have to be fairly abrupt."

Springer nodded, "Alright sir."

Springer was muttering as he left the study and leant on the banister. That did it, mood ruined, hatred for Lady Maisa intensified, liking of the Dean damaged...  
He sighed loudly; at least he'd get a hot bath within the week.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Springer's internal monologue is wordy AF. Also there was a lot of dialogue in this part, sorry.


	5. A Prelude to Bathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ready for bathing? Oh, and another character arrived!

There was a knock at Springer's door. It woke him up.   
_It's four in the morning..._ He didn't move and just lay there in silence.  
He heard Virtue's door open across the corridor.  
"Arcee, it's four in the morning!"  
He still didn't move. _Exactly, it's four in the morning._  
" _Virtue_ , I saw something move."  
"That's... Why are you even awake in the first place 'Cee?"  
Frag it. Springer hauled himself off his berth and to the door. He startled Arcee when he opened it.  
"Ah, wonderful," Virtue said, "We're all awake now. _At four in the morning._ "  
Springer didn't even know what day it was, was the sun even up yet? Virtue was wearing some kind of robe and Arcee had a blanket around her shoulders. Springer didn't even have his chest plate on.  
"But Virtue!"  
"Don't 'but Virtue' me, young lady!"  
Springer may have backed in to his room a little, "Uh, okay then. What's even going on?"  
Arcee grabbed his wrist, "Something moved!", her tone was slightly sing-song, and she swung his arm, blanket slipping off as she did.  
Virtue sighed, "Arcee. Take Springer into your room and then we can see if it was just your belongings in the darkness or if it was one of your father's 'things that get in'."  
Arcee nodded, "Okay Virtue."  
She pulled at Springer's arm and led him into her room. He suddenly realised that in the three days he had been in the house, he hadn't actually been in Arcee's room.   
"Good luck..." Virtue murmured, turning back into her room, and Springer tensed slightly.

Arcee turned the light on as they entered and Springer realised his assumption that her room opened up behind his and Virtue's was correct. The room was huge, and... bright pink... The walls were pink, the flooring was pink, the berth covers were pink, he wouldn't have been surprised if her _washroom_ was pink. Things Springer didn't even know could be pink were pink. Things that didn't need to be pink were pink. Pink and purple dangly things hung from the ceiling, there were branching pink and purple crystals in pink and purple pots. Pink, pink, pink, pink, pink, pink, pink!  
Springer reset his optics to mute out the pink. It made Arcee look as grey as her room, but he just couldn't handle any more pink!  
Eh... Pink didn't seem to be a word anymore. 

"Um... You've got a... big room." he said eventually.  
"Uh... Yes. It's quite big," Arcee replied, "I'm not actually that keen on the colour _really_."  
Springer had a feeling he knew the answer, but... "Then why is it... this colour?"  
Arcee snorted, "Blame my mother. She thinks I like it. I used to - but not anymore..."  
"So why don't you change it?" he asked.  
"Oh, I will. Just after the festival. When it starts getting cold."

Springer nodded with a vent, _can't argue with that..._ Hearing something near her berth, they both turned, a bronze and silver cyber cat with blazing yellow eyes and yellow crystals in its tail slipped out from underneath. Chirping, it padded over and gracefully wrapped itself around Arcee's ankles with a purr.  
She bent down and picked up the cat, its back legs dangled a little as she took it into her arms.  
Arcee practically purred back at it, "Hedy! What are you doing in here?"  
"So it was your cat." Springer said flatly, "You woke us up over your cat."  
Arcee shrugged, scratching the cat under its chin, "I guess, she's not supposed to be in here."  
"Should I take her out?"  
"Okay," she said, ladling the cat into his arms, "thanks Springer."  
"Don't mention it," He muttered, shifting to support Hedy's back end, "She's kind of a big cat isn't she?"  
He spoke blindly, he hadn't really had much interaction with cats or any other animal. Pets just weren't a thing in constantly working Kalis. The stray cats had always seemed a lot smaller than her though. Hedy was purring now, and subconsciously he stroked her belly.  
"She's from Praxis, she kind of has to be big." Arcee said.

The door creaked and Virtue entered the room, carrying Arcee's blanket - Springer saw now that it was ivory, almost the same colour as Virtue's armouring. She glanced around a moment - Springer swore she was blanking out the pink - and swept over to them.  
"Cat?"  
Arcee nodded, "Cat."  
Springer joined in, "Cat."  
Arcee giggled.  
"Well," Virtue said, "Now it has been well established that your 'something that moved' was indeed the cat, I should say we all go back to our berths."  
"Okay." Arcee said, stroking Hedy once more before climbing onto her berth.

Virtue removed Hedy from Springer's arms as soon as they had left the room. Springer was then treated to three minutes of Virtue mothering the cat, telling her that she was not supposed to be in Arcee's room, making chirping noises at her, nuzzling... Okay it was getting ridiculous now. Springer raised an optic ridge and tried not to stare. Virtue put Hedy down sheepishly and the cyber cat ran into her room through the open door.  
"I'm sorry." Virtue said, "She's my cat. I brought her with me when I was hired, and she seems to have adopted Arcee."  
"Is she usually in your room?" Springer asked.  
Virtue shook her head, "No, she's usually in the garden actually. Sleeping by the fountain."  
 _There's a fountain?_  
"I'll have to lock her in my room on the actual festival night." Virtue continued, "She's terrified of the fireworks. I hate to leave her alone, but I can't exactly stay behind while everyone goes off to the display."  
She paused a moment, "Well, I think we should savour the few hours we have before we are all forced to be up. Luckily, we can all get away without showers, we're going to the baths today!" Clapping her hands together with an excited little sound that was disconcerting from a femme her age, Virtue followed Hedy into her room with a spring in her step and shut the door behind her.  
 _Frag, that's today?_

On the front steps, waiting for her ladyship, Arcee was yawning, Virtue was trying to get Aeroline out the door while trying to keep Hedy in, Grease was muttering about some player in some sport fragging up to no one in particular, the Dean and Cragmire were... Springer assumed they were talking about the weather, there was a lot of talk about rain and cloud formation... And then Cloudkick, down on the bottom step, said something that caught his attention.  
"Has anyone seen Scraphammer this morning?"

Springer had not yet seen his unfortunately named colleague, but had heard a lot about him in the last three days. Then again, he had no idea where Grease's room was and hadn't been up to the third floor yet. 

"Not awake." Grease said, looking up from his muttering, "The last I saw of him he was dozed off in the garden two days ago."  
The Dean seemed amused, "Well, he does tend to come when you call him. If he hears you that is."  
Springer wasn't quite sure if Virtue had kicked at Hedy or not, but Aeroline was out of the house now.  
"He was replacing balcony yesterday," the tiny femme said, "but I haven't seen him today."  
Virtue adjusted her helm a little, "Well, he'd better turn up soon, I'd hate for us to have to leave without him."

Something rattled, and before Springer had a chance to turn, the door was open and a mech a little taller than him was stood a little behind Grease.  
"Scraphammer!" Virtue exclaimed as Hedy ran out the open door.  
"Oops, sorry Virtue," he said with an indistinguishable accent Springer thought may have been from Altihex. 

He wandered down the steps with a nod to Cloudkick, apparently dived behind a round branching expanse of crystal, and came back with the cat in his arms.   
It was then that Springer was able to properly look at him. His legs curved outwards from the knee, there was some sort of brace on his left foot, and there was a large scar crossing the bridge of his nose. His armour was rusting at the edges, the... Primus only knew what that colour was supposed to be... paint clinging loosely to the least rusted areas was flaking, and he peered out from under an unornamented and oversized helm. His optics were a pale orange colour, almost the colour the worst of the rust turned when the light hit it, and he had a dopey smile. His joints were very strange, and almost entirely because they were open and completely unprotected. Bits of him looked eeriely like scrap metal and - _Holy frag. He's Junkion._  
Springer half stared as Scraphammer walked to Virtue - quite stiffly and dragging his braced foot - and deposited Hedy in her arms. The cat was swiftly forced through a half open window.  
Scraphammer turned and smiled at him, "So we've not met yet."  
"Uh, I'm Springer." he said.  
"Scraphammer. I basic'ly do whate'er nee's doin'. Broken, I fix i', not broken - I stop i' breakin'."  
Springer battled through his accent and near unintelligible speech and nodded, "I'm Arcee's guard."  
"Ah, I heard y'were. Her window's leakin'... I'll fix tha'... Well, back t'hand, this y'thing?"  
"Parties, galas, balls... Not really, but then I've never been." he said, "Is it yours?"  
"Ah, nah. I don' like th' crowd. Th' baths are good though. I've no id'a what the're tryin' to achieve, but the' do whate'er and I try no' to complain."  
Scraphammer clapped his hands together, "So, we're jus' waitin' now for her ladyship, and then we're set."  
"That is indeed the case." the Dean said, "And speaking of whom..."

Holding herself high, looking more like she had just come from the baths than she was headed to them, Lady Maisa walked out on to the steps.  
"Come along then." she said as if she were completely unaware they had been waiting nearly an hour for her.   
Virtue groaned as Hedy got out again.

Sitting in the household's private transport (obviously Lady Maisa couldn't be expected to take her alternate mode, the very thought!) beside Arcee, with Aeroline next to her and Virtue next to her, Springer fought with the urge to nod off. The only thing that kept him from it was the conversations going on around him.   
"No, I beat you four to two." Arcee said.  
"Nuh-uh, I beat you six to four." Aeroline replied.  
"In the first game!"  
"In the last one!"  
"Girls..." Virtue said.  
Springer had no idea what they were arguing about.  
"I don't understand how the Valiants could have beaten the Skyraiders, they're not even in the same league." Cloudkick said.  
"I know!" Grease exclaimed, "I swear, if Ember hadn't fragged up off the mark they'd have beaten them thirty-nine to two or something!"  
"Well it ain't as if the's any contest. Stormsight's the Val's only thin' close to a good player, an' he went out eight games ago." Scraphammer said.  
"Remind me how he went out again?" Cloudkick said, tilting her head.  
"'Gainst the Imperials!"  
"Beacon's foot in a joint!"   
"Could you please quiet down?" Virtue called back.

Springer still had no idea what they were talking about.  
He glanced out of the window, he didn't even recognise the architecture as part of the city here. It was still mostly all carved stone, but there was almost no crystal anywhere. He could hear something pattering, and channels ran down the side of the road. It seemed a little more residential here, a few children were running around, a few mothers with their Sparklings were chatting on the corner.  
"Peri, if you don't get away from that channel you won't see next week!" a mech shouted from somewhere, which made Virtue glance to the other window. And Springer saw what she had seen, a green armoured Sparklet was walking along the side of the channel, balancing on the wall.  
"Don't fall in dear, don't fall in." Virtue murmured.  
Springer raised an optic ridge.  
"It's been raining." Aeroline whispered.

"Peri!" the mech yelled again.  
Virtue visibly relaxed as 'Peri' jumped down onto the side of the road and ran off, presumably to the mech who was presumably her father.  
The transport slowed and stopped with a hiss of its brakes.  
"Ah," said the Dean, "we're here."

The doors slid open on both sides. Virtue looked out of the open door beside her, saw a deep puddle and decided to wait for the others to get out rather than burn her pedes.   
The Dean stepped out over a small puddle and offered his hand to Lady Maisa. She calmly accepted it and skipped over the puddle. Springer shifted back in his seat a little to let Arcee out. The Dean actually lifted her over the puddle, which made her giggle and the lady roll her optics.   
The Dean stepped aside to let Springer out, "Please don't stand in the puddle." he said.  
"I won't sir." Springer replied.  
And he didn't either. He may have done something akin to jumping out, but he didn't step in the puddle. It made Arcee and Aeroline giggle anyway.  
Grease stepped in the puddle. Virtue looked like she wanted to hit him, so did the Dean, and Springer wouldn't have been surprised if Cloudkick actually did hit him the moment the Dean looked away.

In fact, Grease received a soft thwack to the back of his head from Scraphammer as the Junkion mech got out, and the look Aeroline gave him was pure murder. Cloudkick gave Grease the same look as she got out behind the young femme.  
Virtue got out last, offering no sympathy to the purple opticed mech, "You are aware that you are the idiot of the evening, yes?"  
"It's... morning..."  
"I was trying not to call you the crown idiot of the year."  
Grease vented heavily and shook off a ped, "Thanks Virtue."  
Virtue smirked a little, "No need to thank me."

With Arcee up under the arm of her sire, Springer fell into step with Scraphammer, hoping to find out a little more about him.  
"So, uh, Scraphammer. What colour is your armour actually?" he asked.   
It was a lame question, Springer knew that, but he wasn't very good at breaking the ice as it were.   
"Uh... I dan' know. Not qui' sure I remember act'ally."  
Springer picked up on the most intelligible word, "You don't remember the colour of your own paintjob?"  
"Ah... No, 's e'ther green 'r some kin'a purple." Scraphammer smiled lopsidedly.  
That baffled Springer, "How do you confuse two colours on the opposite ends of the spectrum?"  
"Eh?"  
Springer gestured with his hands, "Green's like over here, and purple's about over _here_."  
Scraphammer fixed him with a blank stare and promptly changed the subject, "'re you lookin' f'rwards t'this whole fest'val thing?"  
"Um, no not really." Springer said, tripping up onto the first step.  
"Ca'eful, step there."  
"Yeah, I noticed."  
Scraphammer laughed, "As if!"

Springer rolled his optics and planted his pedes firmly on the step. He let Scraphammer fall behind as he caught up with Grease.  
"So." he said.  
"What?" Grease turned his head to look at him.  
"You stood in a puddle." Springer replied.  
"Frag it, stop reminding me! It happened three kliks ago!"  
"Two and a half!" Cloudkick called back from a few steps away.  
Springer gave a small smile but didn't look at Grease, "Even I didn't stand in the puddle."  
"You're enjoying this aren't you?"  
Springer glanced at him, "No, why?"  
Grease vented heavily and tried to walk deliberately up past him. It didn't really work; clearly his feet were still stinging.

It seemed to take forever to get to the top of the fifteen or so carved stone steps, but once they, household, household staff and Springer - he wasn't counting himself yet - did reach the top step, they were all together, oddly crammed in. Even Lady Maisa stood there for the few kliks they paused, though she was muttering.  
"Fragging stupid... Why did he ever... I don't understand this slagging..."  
Springer raised an optic ridge at Scraphammer, who smiled back. _Don't say a word, let her swear_ , he concluded, _she's not so perfect as she'd think..._  
He didn't want to let Scraphammer fall behind this time, the brace slowed him down obviously, but really Springer liked him. He couldn't place it, the mech was just disarming, fairly simple-minded apparently, loud... silly...   
They were moving again, and Springer was the one falling behind. He received a 'wake up' kick in the ankle from the Junkion - who seemed too far away to have done that, as much as he was all arms and legs - and with a reset of his optics he was falling into uneven and sheepish step with Scraphammer.  
"What? Ya'e charg'n on y'pedals or some'?"  
"Ah... No... Just... Thinking..."  
"Dan'erus pass-time."  
 _Funny, real funny, yeah..._ Springer vented, Scraphammer raised thick optic ridges that disappeared under his helm.

The mech who silently opened the door nodded to Lady Maisa, the Dean, Arcee, Virtue, ignored Aeroline, glanced sideways at Grease, suppressed a vent at Scraphammer - who still obliged him the courtesy of a tilted helm and half a smile, and gave Springer a full klik of an examining look that reeked of the old phrase 'you're not from 'round here'. Springer didn't notice, there was engraving on the silver and crystal set door that he found it more important to stare at.   
The Dean noticed however. Having paused, still with Arcee under his arm, to count off their party, he looked to find Springer and found the distrusting look - and one 'pretty thing' transfixed Triplechanger. So that was what he used, nudging Arcee to Virtue with a soft vent and vague grumblings that included at least one Tarnian curse word, Dean Strider put on his lawyer face and walked with authority to the door, setting his heels deliberately onto the diamond shaped tiles for noise.   
It, at least, got Springer's attention. He snapped out of his daze, face flushing, optics hiding, fans whirring, and looked at his employer. He relaxed when he noticed the subtle amusement tugging at the older mech's face, but tensed a tad when the Dean came upon the door-mech sternly.  
"I apologise, you've not been introduced, this..." there were a million words the Dean could have chosen, most of them unflattering, "...Young mech is my daughter's guard, Springer."  
The half-lidded nod the mech replied with prompted a slight whirring from the Dean, but he nodded back curtly and nudged Springer's ped with his own. Leading him back to where Virtue was still rooted to the spot with Arcee babbling at her, the Dean muttered and vented, loud enough for Springer to get a handle on and with the expectation of reply.  
"Distrusting piles of...the whole lot of them. They don't seem to...understand that no, not every group will be consistent every...time."  
"No?" Springer hazarded saying politely, he was... thankful... that he didn't speak a word of Tarnian.  
"No, for Primus' sake, you'd think they owed their patrons a tad of decent...respect."  
"I'd... think so..."  
"Hmm, and I." A click of his glossia, "What is it with you and...Shiny things?"  
"Shiny things sir?"  
"Yes, you're always 'zoning out', Cragmire did say."  
"Uh, sorry sir..." Springer fumbled, "I'm supposed to be scouting, tracking, it comes with the sensors."  
"The last bot I met with the sensors you've shown was a Praxian with OCD." A slight whirr of amusement, "It's almost refreshing to see you're the opposite."  
 _This is nothing like that..._

"Jasmine, dear." Virtue said wearily as Arcee bounced on the spot.  
" _No_... Jasmine smells like hospitals and I don't like it."  
"Well, you've been bathed in it your entire life..." the Dean said, "Personally, I think jasmine smells like _you_ Arcee."  
Arcee groaned, " _Sire!_ "  
The Dean cracked into a broad smile, "I know," he said, draping his arms around her, "I do it on purpose love."

" _Ahem_." Virtue interjected, "Are we going to bathe or not?"  
The Dean nodded, "Of course we are."  
Arcee tucked herself under his arm again, and they all started walking. 

The bathhouse was rather... massive. There was enough room for a mech twice Springer's height and size, and every step he took echoed faintly. _This has to be the biggest building in the area_ , he thought, _especially since people seem to live around here..._  
He noticed a few sparklets with their creators, a few older bots talking, a young couple lost in each other's optics, the smaller standing on the larger's feet. And finally, Aeroline perched on the top of the large marble baluster of the feature staircase at the long end of the hall. Scraphammer seemed to be holding her ankles, keeping her steady. 

"Aeroline," Virtue said flatly as they came into talking distance, "get down from up there."  
Scraphammer lifted her down when the little femme glanced at her with raised optic ridges.  
"The'ya Aeralin." he grunted as he struggled to avoid her wings.  
"Did you let her up there?" Virtue asked him as he put the little aerial down.  
She really was tiny, the top of her helm just reached Scraphammer's elbow.  
"Well, sh'wanted to b'up the' and... Yes."  
Watching Aeroline with her wide opticed expression, Springer's optics reset for her's. He looked away and tuned out to Virtue's scolding. After a few moments Arcee slipped her hand into his. He looked down to her, she was smiling at him.  
"Sire's going ahead." she said, "He said we could wait here or follow."  
Springer glanced at Virtue, who was still yelling at Scraphammer, "Yeah, I think we should follow him." he replied.  
He couldn't see the Dean anywhere, the older mech definitely moved fast when he wanted to, which was impressive for someone who tended to shuffle from room to room and rely on walls at home.  
"Do you know the way?" he asked Arcee after a few minutes of looking around.  
"Yeah, of course I do." she said, "Come on."

Arcee tugged at his hand a little before walking to his left, towards the longer side of the hall. Springer had not been expecting to go this way, and it jarred him to be pulled from the wrong side first. Arcee apparently didn't notice, because she just carried on excitedly towards a large stone arch at nearly a right angle to the bottom of the staircase. An elaborately carved crystal statue of a pair of Seekers was sat on a polished turquoise plinth to the left of the arch, their faces were vaguely generic, which Springer seemed to have read somewhere meant the statue had been made without credited models. He felt a tug on his arm. Arcee stared at him, glancing at the statue every so often as if to ask what was so fascinating about it.  
"Sorry Cee." he mumbled a little and they continued through the arch.

The bathhouse was definitely the biggest building in the area. Springer and Arcee had been walking for some time and they didn't seem any closer to wherever in it they were going. The end of the corridor seemed to get further away the longer Springer spent looking towards it, and it was just so _straight_. There were no corners or smaller corridors branching off from this one, and the sameness of it all was starting to dull his sensors.   
So, it was a shock when the corridor suddenly ended in a set of huge double doors and two shorter corridors stretching off left and right. Springer's sensors jumped back to life, and he was suddenly mildly appreciative of the cloudy crystal sheet panelling and carved stone pillars again. Something rattled behind him and he turned to see Virtue, Aeroline and Scraphammer walking up the corridor.  
"Could you not do that in here please?" Virtue said to Scraphammer.  
"Ah, 's more nat'ral than f'me than walkin'. Y'know that." he replied with half a smile.  
"Yes, I do, but barreling down a corridor as a pile of scrap isn't exactly something... Oh. We've arrived."  
Virtue stood up overly straight as the three of them came level with Arcee and Springer, and Aeroline bounded to Arcee's side. She only came to the other young femme's shoulder, and Springer had genuinely started to believe her height adjusted itself to whomever she was standing next to. _Most of the sparklets I've ever met would probably be taller than her..._

"Right, you know the drill, " Virtue announced, "mecha to the left, femma to the right, and anyone else to the side you resemble most, are we clear?"  
Springer wasn't sure if he should salute her or not, so he decided to follow Arcee's nod - though it wasn't as enthusiastic as hers. Aeroline bounced on the spot - did her thrusters activate as she did? Springer wasn't sure, but she definitely seemed to rise off the ground slower than usual. Scraphammer gave a half mocking salute and a mumbled 'yes ma'am', before corralling Springer down to the left.

"At last," the Dean said as they entered the room, "we were thinking you had been abducted."  
"Sorry sir," Scraphammer said, "I were gettin' a rol'king from Virtue."  
The older mech vented, "May I ask what you did?"  
"Aeralin wanted t'be up t'see where you an' Springer and Virtue and Cee had got to..."  
"Ah, yes, I remember the beginning of that." he brushed his cheek a little, " Well, if we are going to do what we intended here, the two of you should start removing your armour."

It was then Springer realised, the Dean wearing only a robe, and across the tiled room, Grease was stripped to his waist and sulking in the corner. He felt a slight surge of awkwardness, and fought hard to suppress it. This wasn't awkward at all. Not at all, they were all grown mech, they all had the same parts and there wasn't anything to see anyway. The Dean did look slightly odd without his helmet, Springer perfectly understood why Grease was still wearing his, but that was the only thing of note. He glanced over to where Scraphammer had been standing, and he had moved to the bench near the wall. His oversized helmet was already off, some sections of his shoulder-plates and most of the armour on his right leg had also been removed, and for what Springer knew of him so far, placed surprisingly neatly under the bench. Springer still had no idea how Scraphammer moved so quickly, but he knew he was sure to catch at least a glimpse of how he did it if he just watched him closely enough.  
Anyway, Springer had armour to get off too. 

Once they were all de-armoured and robed, and Scraphammer had finally managed to get the brace on his leg off, they headed out to the main corridor, Grease swearing death on the invention of baths through his denta.  
Cloudkick, still wearing her helm but minus her visor - her optics were the same yellow, stood at the mouth of the opposite corridor. When they came out, she gave a small wave of her fingers - which Springer suddenly realised she had six of on each hand.   
In his surprise, he didn't notice Scraphammer behind him - At least until the Junkion mech collided with his back, knocking him forward into the corridor.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I started writing this and posting it on DeviantArt a while ago, but with school and writers' block and a billion other things, it's sort of stopped. So I'm reworking it and merging a few chapters as I post it here. This is entirely my own 'universe' if you will with no real ties to canon, but I am using the G1 versions of Arcee and Springer as inspiration, simply because I am most familiar with them, but also because Springer doesn't really exist outside of G1? Yeah.  
> 'Dean', as I am using it, is vaguely analogous to Judge or Barrister, I don't know, I haven't really given it much thought but it's fairly high up in the legal system here.


End file.
